From above, we all seem part of the same thing.
From here, no one hears us, the buzz of the crowd cannot overpower the language of gestures: hands are what hold important things, they will tell who we are in our place.
The light of a lone street lamp turns that dress a fluorescent green, symbolising a hope that has no intention of extinguishing itself.
The accordion sets the rhythm, but the saxophone plays a tune in which time stands still.
Turn girl, turn again gripping onto that unknown hand. Turn without asking yourself when you’ll stop. On the other hand, not even the world has ever asked itself that question.
Hey you, are those eyes yours or have you stolen them?
Take one last photo. Immortalise us now. We'll never look better than this.